Land of Confusion
by Dumbl3dora
Summary: The Russians have conquered. The world is in pieces. Can Matthew's hands melt an icy heart, or will the last winter overtake the earth? RusCan, RussiaxCanada. Human names used. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

The scorched earth under Matthew's feet was heavy with the stench of decaying flesh and singed hair. The sky pulsed, clouds of blacks and greys rolling and churning above him, warning of the impending storm. The first drops of rain were falling, blessing the sole survivor of the bombing with the cool gift of water on hot, dry skin. The rain mixed with the tears in his eyes, pooling behind his cracked glasses as he gazed upon the ruins of what was once his capital, Ottawa. The Canadian flag, proudly erected before the capital building, whipped and snapped in struggle, fire eating away the red maple leaf with angry hunger. By the time the rain had become a downpour, it was but a scrap of black cloth, hanging limply in the storm. Matthew himself would not die- not this easily- but his beloved capital city had seen its final hour at the hands of the Russian menace.

The damage was difficult to survey through the blinding rain. Matthew's boots slipped and stuck in the mud and a sickly squelching sound followed him as he walked. The rain would soon turn to snow, coating the land with the fierce white of the Russian blizzard. Autumn was quickly crumbling from beneath him, a weak bridge between the extremities of a hot summer and a freezing winter. The Russians brought their cold with them to the already frosty land, sweeping life from the earth in vengeful bombings, fires, guns and disease. It was unclear as to which Ally betrayed the others; Russia's power alone wasn't great enough to conquer the world in one fell hit. No, there was an accomplice that wanted the other nations destroyed. At least, thought Canada as he kicked open the cabin door, freeing the quickly-freezing hinges, they hadn't counted on the strength of the Canucks- not to mention their hidden firepower. Still, the siege had hit hard, and there was no power, little food and no way of knowing what had become of the other nations since Doomsday.

Kumajirou scampered when the door was kicked open and ran for refuge under the meager coffee table. The place was cheap, a safehouse that Matthew normally used for storage, but was livable when needed.

"Relax, Kumakiku," Matthew said softly as he eased onto the tattered couch, minding the broken boards under the plush cushion. "It's just me." He inspected the damage to his glasses, slipping them off and turning them over in his hands. He didn't have any more lenses, so he'd suffer through the double vision forced upon his right eye.

"Who?" the bear's voice implored as he stuck his head out, looking up at Matthew in question. A sigh fled the Canadian's lips and filled the cool air with a hot puff of white.

"It's getting cold fast," he murmured, choosing to start a fire rather than answer the bear. There was a woodstove in the corner of the cabin for easy heating and he checked the wood supply. Fittingly, it was dangerously low, but enough to tie him over until morning. He made quick work of starting a fire, and it quickly filled the room with heat. He always was better than Alfred when it came to survival tactics.

Alfred. His eyes strayed to his phone. It was powered down to conserve energy, on the off chance that the towers would be up and running again. He hadn't heard from his brother in weeks now, not to mention his father or any of his friends. Once upon a time, even Ivan had been a favored number in his contacts. The two shared polite talks of hockey games and other Arctic antics more times than he remembered. All conversations drifted to a swift close when the topic inevitably turned to becoming one with the larger nation. Again, his mind turned in an endless circle. Just who had fallen to the Russian's lures? The thought that it may have been one of his beloved family worried him greatly, and he willed himself not to cry. When the tears began, they would never stop.

"Food," said Kumajirou, and it brought him from his self-pity. Rations of dried fish were stored in the cupboards and he peeled them from their packaging, loading up the bear's bowl. Their taste couldn't overpower their rank odor, but the animal's stomach quelled his complaints.

"I'm sorry, Kumariki," said Matthew softly as he tried a piece of his own, cringing at the strong sour taste. He would have killed for a tall stack of pancakes and a boatload of maple syrup. Even a pad of butter would go down easier on his tongue. Cheese rolled in wax and jars of olives, peppers, and pickled vegetables lined the other shelves, but nothing seemed to satisfy his true hunger. If he wanted to be strong enough to fight, he needed meat, or something more sustaining than old dried fish that smelled as bad as he did after weeks with no shower but the rain. He sat in silence, listening to the patter of the rain on the tin roof and the quiet sound of Kumajirou smacking his jaws.

"Maybe it's time to surrender," said Matthew softly. He pondered the shotgun propped up against the wall. "I'm all on my own now. I'll never survive the winter, even if I do have the ammunition…" What he truly craved was the support of a country with a more evolved military; that would be an effective tool to better combat the Russians. But without phones or internet lines, he was trapped, forgotten by the other nations as the world unanimously declared, "Every man for itself."

Matthew thought until the sun was burned out (not that it had ever shown itself to begin with) and the moon was a bright sickle overhead, the sign of the Communists resurrected for a new-age war. He laid down, sandwiched in a poorly-insulated sleeping bag, and was grateful when his bear climbed next to him and snuggled close in his nest of blankets.

"You know, Kumadango," Matthew said softly, the world dark around him as he held the bear close, "I'm not sure if there even is a Canada anymore. I'm just Matthew now."

He closed his eyes tightly, knowing the bear's response before it was conceived, the question lingering in the silence of the night.

"Who?"


	2. Chapter 2

The Russians came at dawn. The sun was blistering red, just creeping over the horizon when Matthew was awoken by the distinct marching of feet. They were not afraid to give themselves away; the ground thundered as they approached, iced over and crackling under formidable weight. The snow had not stuck here, but the frost had won over the struggling greenery, and the woodstove was failing- not that it mattered. He had to get out, and fast. He would not fall to the Russians if he could help it.

"Kumajima?" he called for his bear, peeling himself from his sleeping bag and dashing to bolt the front door and grab his shotgun. A thick wooden block slid into place to bar it directly underneath the deadbolt, and as an extra precaution the broken couch was stacked against it.

"Hungry," his bear whined from the kitchen. "Food."

"I'm sorry, Kumamaji." Matthew swept the bear into his arms and bound him in a blanket. The pistol holsters he always wore on his being were tight across his chest, and he loosened them just slightly to slip the cocooned polar bear into the makeshift seatbelt. "There's no time for food. You and I have to hightail it out of here."

"Who?" Matthew sighed and kicked aside the coffee table. There was a hatch in the floor that lifted easily, but he had no oil or matches to light his way. He shuddered at the thought of what could be lurking in the cellar, but he swallowed hard and used the loud-growing march of the Russian troop as incentive to face his fear. He dropped the hatch again and descended into the darkness.

"There's a tunnel down here somewhere, Kumayuki," Matthew whispered. His voice, even below its normal raspy volume, echoed and carried in the dank cellar. "I hate to leave our storehouse, but we can't afford to face a whole troop of Russians on empty stomachs."

"Who are you?" Kumajirou responded noisily, and his owner shushed him and placed a hand along the wall, feeling for a door or handle, his boots heavy on the concrete beneath his feet. Banging sounded on the front door above them and a muffled shout ordered the Canadian's surrender. He gulped and shivered, heart skipping beats aggressively as his gloved fingers groped the wall. Gunshots. They would soon be inside. Kumajirou huddled against his chest and his finger slipped onto a handle just as the door burst from its hinges above them and the angry footsteps assaulted the ceiling.

"It's alright, Kumawara," Matthew sighed in relief. "We're going to be alright." The handle turned and the door swung outward with a heavy creak, leading into a foul-smelling tunnel that would twist up to the surface. Matthew closed and locked the door behind him, knowing it would do no good against the Russians if they could break into the cellar. He ran as quickly as his heavy boots would allow, crashing into the wall more than once, nearly sending Kumajirou crashing to the ground in his haste.

"Watch it," the bear grumbled. Light grew closer, seeping through the iron bars of a grate upon the surface. The tunnel became steep, built for access and not convenience. Matthew raised his arms and pushed upon the grate, cursing under his breath as he felt ice freezing the iron in place. He wasn't quite tall enough to put a lot of force into the shoving, and tears threatened in his panic as he searched for a way to break the icy barrier.

"Hold on, Kumachama," he whispered, and he slung his gun off his shoulder. For the first time since Iraq, all those years ago, he slid his goggles down over his eyes and set it on his shoulder, aiming for the hinges of the iron grate. With five perfect shots, it was blasted away, and he shouldered his gun, clutched Kumajirou tight, and pulled himself up into the frosty wilderness. He glanced back over his shoulder, breathing raggedly in the cold air, his breath coming out all around him hot and white. The cabin sported streams of fire at all angles, erupting in orange-red flame. Matthew gulped, glad for remembering its only escape route, when he heard the unmistakable click of a gun. Slowly, he turned and found himself face-to-barrel with a long rifle.

"Game over," said a stern accent from above him. It reeked of strife and unpleasantry. Slowly, violet eyes tilted up to meet that of his captor, an icy blue peering out from the shadow cast by an evergreen army cap housing five impressive stars.

"I'm sorry, _freund_," Ludwig said icily, face devoid of all emotion. "But you will be coming with me now."


	3. Chapter 3

The road was riddled with bumps and turns that jolted all three passengers in the eighteen-wheeled semi. It was a new design, built for war. The doors and windows were properly barred and bolted, and even if Matthew had managed to hang onto either of his pistols or his long-rifled shotgun, they would only ricochet off the shining metal. He and Kumajirou had been thrown into the trailer, a thin sheet of sliding metal cutting them off from their German escort. Matthew's wrists were immediately shackled. Through the dim light, he could just barely recognize the symbol of the Soviets carved into the new metal. Their flag had been resurrected as a grim reminder that they were a force to be reckoned with.

"Where do you think we're headed, Kumatira?" Matthew said, glancing to his unusually quiet bear. He tried to keep the tremble from his voice, not wanting to frighten the little guy. Kumajirou himself was not restrained, but shivered in the cold container, helpless. Matthew drew him into his coat, trying to shield the both of them from the deadly cold.

"It's getting colder," the bear responded through shivers.

Matthew's eyes drifted downward. "I'm so sorry, Kumamatata," he whispered. "I should have tried harder to make sure we were in a clear area. Now all of Canada has fallen."

"Who?"

"And call me naïve, but I thought Germany was on good terms with us," Matthew went on. "Or at least, I didn't think they… that Ludwig and Ivan…. I don't know what to think." With a loud sigh, he rested his forehead on his knees. "I don't want to die, Kumashi… I've barely lived."

The truck came to an abrupt stop, and Matthew sat in silence until the back door was unbolted and pulled open. Ludwig stood before him in his evergreen military coat and jerked his head, motioning for him to come out. Matthew slid out of the trailer as easily as he could in his handcuffs, keeping Kumajirou close to him for safety and taking a look around through the cracked lens of his glasses. Cold air rushed into his face, stinging at his eyes and frosting his delicate sandy blonde lashes. They were at a gas station with a tiny restaurant, still surrounded by hard, packed snow. The air smelled of maple syrup and sugar, and Matthew blushed and realized he was drooling, wiping some of the drippings from the corner of his mouth. Ludwig drew a small pair of keys from his coat pocket, and Matthew raised his brows as he watched the German go for his handcuffs. Bright blue eyes cut up at him from under the bill of Ludwig's hat. "If you try to run, I will shoot you," he said sternly. "Of course, you already knew that." The cuffs fell into his free hand, and he gestured to the building. "You will eat and relieve yourself. The bear will stay in the truck. Ivan's instructions are to bring you straight to him, so we have no time to waste."

"What?" Matthew said, suddenly processing his words. He clutched Kumajirou tightly to his chest. "N-no, Kumamahi has to stay with me at all times…. I'm all he's got now."

"Who are you?" Kumajirou responded.

"Fine, fine…" Ludwig muttered to himself, pushing the Canadian ahead of him. "But I warn you, one false move and you both get it."

"I understand," Matthew said softly, edging ahead of him. "Be good, Kumatori…."

The restaurant was even smaller than it looked on the outside, with only a few bar seats and ragged booths to call furnishing. Matthew nonetheless got his stack of pancakes with maple syrup, Kumajirou nibbling up what he didn't eat, and Ludwig watched them, coolly sipping a tall glass of beer. Matthew ate slowly, aware of the German's eyes on him, and swallowed thickly.

"You know," he said quietly, "I…. I don't understand." He lifted violet eyes to the man, shining earnestly. "You were… so kind to me, when you did remember me. You never seemed too violent or estranged, so why…. why would you work for someone as insane as Ivan?"

"Times have changed," the German answered gruffly. "So have I, and so have you." A few moments of silence passed between the two, and the burning on Matthew's cheeks convinced him to quickly draw from his cup of cocoa, worried that the meal he was sitting down to may be his last. Ludwig's eyes weakened beneath the shade provided by his hat, and he sighed warily.

"It's Feliciano," he said quietly, taking the hat off, softening his features as he ran a large, strong hand through his perfectly-combed blonde hair. "Ivan has taken him hostage in order to employ my military assistance. The only way to ensure his safety and to see him regularly is to turn my services over to the Russians. You would do the same."

Matthew gazed down into his lap, empathy swelling in his chest. He was sorry to say that the German was right. Had it been Francis, Alfred or even Arthur kidnapped by the Russian menace, he would go to any lengths to make sure that they were safe.

"I see," he said quietly. "And my family? What have you heard about them? Is… is Alfred….?" He looked up to see Ludwig shaking his head gravely. "Things are not looking good for the Americans or the French," he said apologetically. "Things are not looking good for anyone who decides not to join the Russians willingly. The Chinese and Japanese too have sworn allegiance to the New Russian Empire. I do not know the full details of the inner circle, or why all three nations would agree to work together. I only know that this world is in for a rude awakening… and that you are going to be strung up as bait."

"B-bait?" Matthew said, indignant. Being compared to a little minnow- or worse, a worm- hurt his pride, making his heart sink in his chest as he thought of what it meant for bigger fish- Francis, or, worse, Alfred. "N…no…."

"I'm afraid so," Ludwig said, standing, replacing his cap as he downed the rest of his drink. "I am sorry, mein freund. But I will do what it takes to ensure Feliciano's safety."

"I understand," whispered the Canadian meekly. "After all, it would be senseless to throw away your standing to save Canada."

Kumajirou looked between the two of them as Matthew was re-shackled, a puzzled look on his little furry face. "Who?"


End file.
